


A Perfect Day

by cathy1967



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathy1967/pseuds/cathy1967
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss can drive you crazy if you let it. John is having his own problems with loss these days and Sikozu is not helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Day

The single sun was high in the sky and the weather in general was milder than it should be for this time of the season. The tall, willowy Ashanti made her way across the market place with a basket over one arm which contained the day's shopping; a few roots, a few bottles of raslac, and a news-chip. It was early in the day, but Ur'dur was not shying back from taking in a little refreshment, so she headed toward the nearest open bar, found a single seat at the counter itself and settled her fragile-looking frame easily onto the stool.

"What'll it be, pretty girl?" the barkeep asked and winked at her. He was Sebacean, but did not shy back from other races.

Ur'dur smiled. "A raslac, if you please," she countered and glanced at the other patrons of the bar. On her left sat a Nasduc male, his deadly dark-gray spines flattened against his back, deeply engrossed in conversation with the Nebari male sitting next to him. On her right side sat - or rather half lay half hung on the bar - a Sebacean male with an array of glasses and bottles in front of him, all empty. Ur'dur arched a sculpted eyebrow. She herself was having such a marvelous day that she had not considered that there might be others whose lives might not be so wonderful.

"Warm or chilled?" the barkeep asked.

"Warm, please," she responded instinctively while she eyed her neighbor for a moment. "What has happened to you that you are this depressed this early in the day?" she asked and gently put a hand on the man's shoulder.

He jerked, raised his head off the counter and blinked sluggishly at her. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin waxen and he reeked of alcohol.

Being an Ashanti could both be a blessing and a curse at times. His sorrow almost overwhelmed Ur'dur as their eyes locked, but she did not pull back from this one. Most life forms had crude, base thoughts - even the sad ones - and she would rather be without their intrusion in her mind, but this one harbored true sorrows, true pain.

He sniffed and tried in vain to dry the shells of some local delicacy off his cheek, attempted a smile which failed miserably and turned his wobbly attention toward the empty glasses on the counter. "I used to have it all," he rasped and reached unsteadily for one of the glasses that wasn't entirely empty. "Not so long ago, I had everything a man could ever want." He snorted, then sniffed again and upended the contents of the glass on the counter. He watched the liquid spread, then traced a finger through it and subsequently stuck it in his mouth, sucking the liquid off it. "Now, I've got nothing. Nada, zip, zero."

Ur'dur could not determine what he had lost, but she assumed it had to be what he said if the feelings he gave off were for real and not just phantoms from a drunken mind. "All things happen for a reason," she said with a vague smile.

"Oh yeah," he agreed and barked a joyless laugh. "The reason is very clear to me now. It's only taken me five damned cycles to figure it out, you know." He glanced at her, frowned briefly, and then shook his head.

"And what is that reason?" Ur'dur asked kindly. Others might not care about his misery, but in her opinion, no one should be this sad on a day like this.

He grimaced and rubbed the heel of one hand over one eye, smearing traces of tears over his cheek. "I must have done something really bad in a past life to deserve this," he muttered.

Before Ur'dur could enquire further, a gloved hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. "It is time to leave, Crichton."

Ur'dur glanced at the newcomer and flinched at the emotional storm brewing in that one. Hatred, betrayal, and a thirst for revenge so strong it nearly took the Ashanti's breath away. The Kalish female dragged her companion off the stool he had so far been sitting on and, holding onto his arm, somehow managed to keep the unsteady male on his feet.

The Kalish's eyes locked on Ur'dur's. "What the frell are you staring at, Ashanti?" she spat.

Ur'dur glanced at the male. "I was just wondering what had happened to this one to leave him in so much pain," she said quietly, not taking offence at the kitling's harsh words.

"None of your frelling business," the Kalish shot back. "Come along, Crichton. We have work to do," she added and hauled the male with her as she left.

Ur'dur watched them go, then sighed and turned back to her raslac. Why could not everybody be happy on a day like this? It defied her understanding.

***

Loneliness had always been his biggest enemy. He hated being alone; even as a child. And solitude did little for his general state of mind at this point. But what could he do?

On his knees in front of the waste receptacle, he held onto the sides of it for dear life while his stomach attempted to follow the meager remains of bile up his throat. Damn, he hated throwing up and he was beginning to hate what came before as well. Getting drunk no longer held any allure for him; especially when it ended in this.

For the moment, his stomach settled a little and he took the opportunity to wipe the back of one hand under his nose. His nose was running, his eyes were watering, his throat felt like he'd tried to swallow dragonfly paper with the business side out, and in general he just felt so damned lousy that his best option right around now would have to be death.

Wasted from too much alcohol, too little food and being sick too many times, he sat back on his heels and ran a lightly shivering hand through his hair. It was longer now, long enough to fall in his eyes if he didn't push it back all the time. Although he made halfhearted attempts at shaving at least a couple of times per week, he still had the stubble forming on his cheeks and chin most of the time.

He closed his eyes and braced himself against the floor with one hand while the world started spinning around him. That blasted Kalish kept her distance when he was sick. She wouldn't make much of a mother, he thought to himself and then pressed his lips together into a thin line to keep his raging emotions in check.

It did little good, though. The tears rose in his eyes again and a few broke loose and trickled down his face. He wiped them away and shakily forced himself back to his feet. There were three things he didn't think of any more if he could avoid it in any way. Friends, motherhood and freedom. And all three things kept crowding in on him. Silenced voices demanded attention, ghosts of familiar and understanding kindness left him aching for the real thing, and through it all she was there, watching him, being verbally abusive, derisive; corrosive to every aspect of his life.

They only had one thing in common, him and that damned Kalish he shared this leviathan with; only one common goal. But it was enough to keep them together. She was the brain, he the muscle. She was the planner, he the errand boy. In the end, it would kill him. He knew that. But it would be worth it if he reached his goal first. Death was preferable at this point, but he needed to settle the score before he moved on to whatever lay beyond. It was payback time and, as one of his friends back home had once said: Payback's a bitch.

"Are you done being sick?"

Her voice was coarse in his ears, not the softly melodic voice he wanted to hear. His knees gave a little and he braced his hands against them, hoping to remain upright for a moment longer. Then he glanced at her. There was no pity in her fabulous eyes.

She had lost as much as he had, more even. They both had to settle a score. But she was cold, harsh and angry. He was sad, drunk and devastated.

"Make yourself useful then," she suggested. "I need to run a diagnostic of the system. I cannot do that by myself and that frelling Pilot continuously refuses to aide me."

He straightened up and froze briefly when his stomach rolled uneasily. Then he sniffed and turned around to face her. "Maybe you should learn to ask nicely, Sputnik," he suggested. Any attempt at sounding casual had gone down the drain long ago.

"He is there to serve. He should serve," she stated coldly. "You look like dren."

"Thanks. You're not much prettier," he countered. At times, his temper flared and he snapped at her. Then she responded in a way he assumed she had picked up from their common nemesis. She backhanded him across the face, throwing him easily off his feet. He hit the floor on his shoulder, bruising already bruised muscles there.

"This is all your fault," she snapped and kicked him in the chest when he tried to sit up again. "You should have given in to Scorpius the first frelling time he demanded the wormhole technology. All of this dren could have been avoided."

He coughed weakly and rubbed the sore spot on his chest. They had been down this road countless times before and it just wasn't getting any better. For a moment he considered leaving it at that. Maybe he should just curl up here on the floor of his quarters and die. But he knew she would not let him and he knew he couldn't let go until all was avenged.

Without much conviction, he propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a tired look. He had actually been happy to see her, to realize she was alive. Well, that happiness sure had worn off. Like with Scorpius before her, he was nothing but a prop to her, a means to an end. She needed him for some obscure reason.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he asked. There was not much force left in his words, his voice. "Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

"Because we have work to do and I am not going to let you frelling crawl off into a corner somewhere and die before we have accomplished what we need to do," she snapped. She eyed him with nothing short of distaste. "Weak species," she snarled, swirled around and strode out.

He watched her go and wished she would just blow up or something. No matter how motivated he may be to seek revenge, death was really beginning to look good to him.

Too tired to get up and too sad to care, he rolled over on his stomach, pushed up on his hands and knees and crawled over to his bed. He dragged himself up on top of the covers and collapsed there, eyes closed. But only for a moment.

That scent. His lids slid open and he focused slowly on the black fabric underneath his head. The sling. The mere thought of that sling brought tears to his eyes and raised a lump in his throat.

He pulled the sling out from under his head with trembling fingers and pressed the fabric against his face, inhaling deeply. Keeping it pressed against his face, he curled up on himself and allowed himself to drown once more in the misery that was his life now. What would it matter if he got revenge? It wouldn't change anything. He would still lie here with his heart torn out and his soul burned to cinders. To hell with the universe and to hell with everybody else.

***

How incompetent could one person be? Sikozu gave Crichton a nasty glance from where she stood by the door of the center chamber. That incompetent Human sat at the table, his head resting on his arms, and he hadn't moved for an arn.

She sneered. She knew he was in pain, knew the suffering that had brought on this behavior, but why could he not use the pain and channel it into anger or even hatred? Why did he have to be so frelling weak? She had lost a lot on this frelled deal too. Scorpius had betrayed her trust much in the same way as she had betrayed his. The only problem in this equation was that she had not expected him to take it personally. That frelling half-breed had spent the majority of his life twisting and turning things to his own needs, betraying others, setting them up, manipulating them. Why he had responded the way he had at her apparent 'betrayal' was beyond her.

She was nothing if she was not a survivor though. Betrayal by both the Scarrans and Scorpius at once should probably have left her teetering on some edge, but all she felt was the overwhelming need to get back at him, at them. If she could combine this with the freedom of her people ... who was she to deny herself that chance? With the healing of her body came the healing of her mind. Once all was said and done, the Scarrans would have one less species to kick around and Scorpius? Scorpius would have learned a valuable lesson. If, that was, he survived her teachings.

Once again, she sneered. She needed Crichton to help her carry out her plans. But he was weak, incompetent, wallowing in self-pity. If she had known he would lose all will to live after what had happened, she would have done much more to save that frelling Sebacean and her wailing infant. But things could not be undone and there was always a chance that Crichton's overwhelming sadness would turn to anger and hatred. Fueled by such powerful emotions, he would become what she needed the most.

She herself had tried to facilitate a change in his state of mind by being harsh. But all words of hers seemed to bounce off him or, even worse, increase his depression. She did not understand his need to remember by scent and touch. It was such a base, animal way to be. Animals! That was all these creatures were. It was impossible to even for a moment entertain the thought that Sebaceans could in any way originate from that.

With a snort, she considered her options for a moment. She was smarter, faster, better than him. She should be able to change his mind about crawling into a corner to die. And now that she really bothered to think about it, there was really only one way to facilitate that. She pushed away from the doorframe she had so far been leaning against and sidled up behind him.

"Crichton," she said, lending her voice a softer tone. "Listen to me. There is nothing gained by your sadness. You will never find peace until you strike back at the one who did this to you."

"Go away," he mumbled into the crook of one arm.

Sikozu sighed lightly and placed a hand on his back. "If you were really serious about dying, Crichton, you would have accomplished it by now. Why do you hang on?"

For a long moment, it appeared that he would continue to be weak and not answer her, but then he raised his head. "For two glorious months, I had it all," he rasped and drew in a shaky breath. "Everything a man could want. Peace, a wife and a kid." He paused and she felt him tense under her hand. "Now I've got nothing. What's there to live for? What good will it do if I kill Scorpius?" He pushed himself up and sniffed before turning around to look up at her. "Nothing. That's what it'll do. Nada, zip, zero. They won't come back if I kill Scorpius. Nobody will come back if I kill him. They're all dead, Sikozu. Don't you get it?"

With something resembling pity stirring in the pit of her stomach, she frowned lightly. "I know they are, Crichton. I was there when it happened," she agreed, forcing her tone to remain calm. Most of all she wanted to shake some sense into him, to slap him again as she had before. But it had proven futile to be angry with him and that convinced her to try a different approach. "But do you not want to make him pay for what he has done to you?"

He eyed her for a moment, then closed his eyes and turned away from her. "It doesn't matter if I do make him pay. It will not change anything."

A little annoyed, she tried to think of a better strategy. There was probably only one thing he would respond to right now, though. "If you made him pay, Crichton, you would prevent him from doing the same thing to others."

He stiffened and turned his head just a little, but did not look at her.

She settled onto the bench next to him and eyed him for a moment. If only she didn't need him to carry out her plan. But she did and there was not much she could do about it. She had spent six monans with Scorpius and she was still in awe at his ability to adapt to any given situation. It also gave her a unique insight into his psyche, but Crichton was the only one who knew him on a completely mental stage. That clone he had carried with him had been a copy of Scorpius' personality, which gave the Human some very interesting insights. The only problem was that Crichton obviously was not aware that he knew the half-breed better than anyone else in the entire galaxy.

"I need your help," she said quietly. It was a hard thing to admit and she knew that he would have taunted her if he hadn't been so depressed. "The Scarrans are eradicating the Kalish. I need to make them stop. One way of doing so is to serve them Scorpius' head on a platter."

"You mean my head," Crichton corrected her. "The Scarrans are only out to get the Kalish because of the Katratzi-deal. That wasn't Scorpius' fault, that was mine."

"True, but that incident has only served to open their eyes to the fact that the Kalish have been working against them from the very beginning. We are smarter than they could ever be and now that they know this, they will do anything they can to wipe them all out. They are destroying my people, Crichton. You have to help me stop them." It was not in her nature to beg. As a matter of fact, it went against every dench of her being to beg for anything, but she was worried that if she did not somehow turn him around, he would put an end to himself before she could see her plans through.

He blinked, then scrubbed a palm over his cheek. For a moment, he just sat there, unmoving, unresponsive. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "What's the use? Whatever I do goes wrong, Sputnik. Find yourself another sacrificial lamb," he said and laid his head back down on his arms.

His depression was far worse than she had thought at first. This was not a cry for attention, but more the loss of his spirit. She sat still for a moment, considering her options, and assumed that now was the time to use the biggest pressure point she could ever exert on him. "They may not be dead," she said quietly.

For a moment, nothing happened. He just sat there, his head resting on his arms, his face turned away from her. But then he sat up, sighed deeply, ruffled his hair with both hands and then turned a little to face her fully. "What?" he asked. His tone was a mixture of dangerous and disturbed and Sikozu realized right there and then that he would have to be crazy to help her. If that was what it took, she would make him crazy.

"They may not be dead," she repeated and met his gaze dead on. "Think about it. Why would Scorpius remove the only pressure he can put on you? Scorpius does not act irrationally. Every step he takes is thought through, calculated, dissected to the smallest possible variant. He may presently consider it most ... advantageous to let you believe that your family and friends are gone only to bring it up at a later point."

His expression alone made her consider not to push this to the limit just yet. His pupils were slightly dilated, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "What?" he repeated. "What are you saying? That I've been mourning my wife and son, my friends, for half a year for no reason?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You should know better than anyone what Scorpius is capable of. He lies to suit his needs, will do whatever he can to obtain whatever it is that he is after. Scorpius is resourceful, but he is not infallible. He does make mistakes."

Crichton rose, stepped over the bench and took a few steps away before coming to a stop again, his back to her. Sikozu rose too and followed him.

"You must understand that you have a unique perspective on Scorpius. That neural clone he implanted in your mind ... that was Scorpius. You know what he is like much more than anyone does. You know his secrets if you only look deeply enough," she tried. Apparently, he needed to be coaxed. And she was all for using all weapons she had.

His shoulders rose a little. Then he turned around and what she saw in his eyes was what she had been aiming at all along. There was fathomless anger there, bottomless hatred. What she had not expected, though, was that he might direct that anger and hatred at her. He grabbed the shoulder straps of her top and bodily lifted her off the floor. "Are you telling me that you knew this all along and you let me believe that my wife and child were dead?" he asked, his voice shaking with the control he was still exerting on himself.

All of a sudden, it no longer appeared to be such a good idea to make him crazy, to direct his anger and hatred. It was quite obvious that his anger and hatred could not be directed. "I am saying that it is a possibility, Crichton," she countered. "I do not know for certain, but I suspect Scorpius would not have killed them if he believed he could use them against you at a later point."

It was quite obvious that he was about to explode, but to his credit he seemed able to contain his anger enough to not hurt her. Instead, he set her down almost carefully and released her before balling his hands into fists and taking a step back. His eyes never left her face. "You want me to go after him? Fine! I'll go after him. I'll rip his frelling head off. But you better pray that Aeryn and my son are still alive. Because ... if they're not ... if you've given me false hope ... I am going to take them all out and you with them."

With those words, he turned around and strode out, suddenly full of purpose. Sikozu watched him go and wondered if she had just created a monster she could not contain. There was no doubt in her mind that he would destroy everything around him, himself and her included, if it turned out that her assessment of Scorpius had been wrong. But she believed that it was a possibility and she would stand by that belief until it was proven otherwise.

***

Not dead? Could it be? Did he dare hope? He stood still in the middle of his quarters - their quarters - and stared at D'Argo's knife lying on the palm of his hand; this knife that had cut a lock from Aeryn's hair when he had thought her dead on that ice planet eons ago; this knife that had released his son from his mother; this knife that he had carried with him ever since ... He mentally shied back from the memory, the inevitable scenes of destruction that would fill his mind to the breaking point. He had not once dared to follow them through to the end, because all he could focus on were his son's pitiful wails and the heat of the explosion.

He dropped down on the floor and closed his fingers over the razor sharp edge of the knife. It drew blood, sent sharp pain through his hand, but he held on, let the blood flow and allowed himself to be swept backwards to that time and place that he would rather forget.

Reminiscing was not always a good thing, but it could be if used in the right way. The tide of his memories subsided around him like water draining out of a pool, leaving him soaked in the potency of what had happened, sharp memories cutting through the veils of destruction, through the anguish, the horror of having lost all that he cared about in one fatal blow. Now, six months later, sitting here on the floor of their quarters while the hot-sharp pain of the knife's edge cutting into his hand centered his thoughts and stripped away all unnecessary rabble from the memories, he could still hear his son wailing pitifully after the explosion subsided.

His lids slid open and he stared ahead of himself for a long, silent moment. Little D had been screaming his head off before the explosion. He had heard him even through the closed doors. Aeryn had in vain tried to pacify her son while John had allowed himself to be lured outside. The explosion had knocked him off his feet, had given him painful, long-lasting burns on the back of his neck and arms. But the pain of the burns had been nothing compared to the pain it had been to have his heart and soul ripped out at the realization that his family - Aeryn, Little D, Chiana, Rygel - had all been inside.

Scorpius had turned up, followed by a platoon of Peacekeepers. He had smiled knowingly. But before John could respond, Sikozu had turned up out of nowhere, alive and livid. Her angry assault had surprised Scorpius, had driven the platoon into retreat. But Sikozu had no intention of finishing the job just then. Instead, she had hauled John out of there, gotten them both off the planet.

John realized now that he had been shell-shocked, that he had believed all hope to be lost, all light to be extinguished, at that explosion. The building behind him had collapsed. He'd had a broken ankle to prove it too. Nobody could have survived that explosion. And yet he could not shed the memory of his son's pitiful cries even after the explosion.

"Oh God," he whispered, swallowed hard and closed his lids again for a moment. "They were still alive."

***

Scorpius expected much from John, and he felt fairly certain he knew him well enough to determine any move the elusive Human would make. He had, however, not expected John to turn up on his command carrier, waving a pulse pistol about and shooting his staff without hesitation.

Now that Scorpius had said pulse pistol aptly aimed at his head, he had to revise his opinion of John. It seemed that if the Human was desperate enough, he would push aside his high morals and become as ruthless and cold as the rest of them.

"Where are they?" John pressed out through clenched teeth. His eyes were alight with hatred, beads of sweat brought on by the restraint he put on himself dotted his brow, his posture as tense as it could be.

Scorpius was in no doubt that John would shoot him without the slightest hesitation if he pushed the situation past the breaking point, but Scorpius had spent his entire life manipulating others to do what he wanted them to do. None so far had managed to slip past his defenses and that was as it should be. "Where is who, John?" he asked and tried for a smile.

John sneered with the sheer intensity of his feelings. The hatred and anger rippled off him in waves and there was nothing calm or controlled about him. "My family," he hissed in a tone that cracked and broke.

Scorpius frowned lightly. "Your family is dead, John. You know that. You were there when it happened," he replied, lending his voice as much calmness as he could muster.

"No, they're not," John pressed out. "You only wanted me to believe that they were to ... to ... get me to do whatever the hell it is you want me to do."

"And who has put such ideas in your head, John? Why would I want to keep you from your family? What would the purpose be?" Scorpius countered evenly, lending his tone just enough hurt that John would pick up on it.

"I don't frelling know, do I?" John snarled and tensed his grip on his weapon. "But if you must know, Sikozu told me and I believe her. And you know why? Because that's just the kind of thing you'd do."

"Sikozu?" Scorpius effectively clamped down on his surprise. While Sikozu had been with him, she had expressed nothing but sheer disgust for John Crichton and anything that was connected to him. He knew that she was vengeful. Her hatred toward the Scarran oppressors of her people was almost as intense as his own, but he would still not have suspected that she would willingly deal with Crichton in any way. Granted, she had apparently saved him after the explosion that had obliterated Crichton's family, but still. Scorpius was a little disconcerted by the fact that he had misjudged her that much. "And why, if I may ask, do you listen to her, John? Sikozu has a grudge against me. She will say anything to enlist you for her cause."

"Bull," John snapped. "She's right. You are an exceedingly arrogant prick. I want my family back, Scorpius, and I will take this frelling command carrier apart if you keep them from me."

Scorpius sighed dramatically. "What must I do to convince you, John? I do not have your family because your family is dead. I realize that you are in mourning and I ... understand. You have my deepest sympathies. But has it ever occurred to you that Sikozu might have planted that bomb that killed them and then blamed me for it in order to force you to help her destroy me?"

The first flicker of doubt rippled through the human. The look in his eyes became briefly distant, but then he focused sharply on Scorpius again. "You're lying," he hissed.

"Am I?" Scorpius asked, now lending his tone a sharp edge. "Am I indeed? Think about it for a moment, John. Sikozu conveniently showed up 'after' the fact to save you from me. If you knew her at all, you would know that she does not ... save others unless she can find use for them. She is manipulative. She had me fooled for quite a while before I realized that she was spying for the Scarrans, feeding them information. She was the reason for that your Luxan friend's ship was destroyed. The Scarrans knew where we were all the time. Because of her."

The doubt intensified. John blinked rapidly and the level of both hatred and anger decreased. To Scorpius' unique vision, it was like turning a heater off. The pulsing red aura surrounding John decreased in color and became calmer. But he shook his head, still refusing to believe.

"Lower your weapon, John, and let us speak on more friendly terms," Scorpius suggested with a slight smile on his lips. "She has you fooled. She will do anything to get back at me. Such is her nature."

Again John shook his head, but his hand holding the pulse pistol was no longer so tense. He bent it a little at the elbow, then suddenly lowered it. The tension of anger and hatred ebbed out of him, leaving behind a tangible sense of defeat and renewed sorrow.

Scorpius waved at a chair. "Sit down, John. Listen to what I have to say," he said quietly.

For a long, silent moment, all John did was just stand there, shoulders slumped, pulse pistol in hand, while he stared ahead of himself with a look of utter devastation in his eyes. "So they're really gone," he whispered and blinked rapidly a few times.

"I'm afraid so, John," Scorpius agreed.

John glanced at the offered chair, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I gotta get out of here. I need some air," he stated, holstered his pulse pistol and left the officer's lounge.

Scorpius watched him go until the door closed again. "Captain Braca. Crichton is leaving us. Please make certain that nobody tries to stop him," he said to the comm without ever taking his eyes off the closed door. "Just let him leave."

***

The fact that Scorpius had let him go, that none of the Peacekeepers had made a move against him, was something that did not register with him at all. All he could feel was defeat and mental agony. All he could think was that all of Sikozu's words had been nothing but lies. He was in hell and, obviously, that was where he belonged.

A barrage of bottles sat on the table in front of him, unopened. The center chamber was silent but for the low hum that was Moya herself and the occasional twitter of a DRD passing by the open door. That blasted Kalish hadn't shown herself yet and he would wring her neck if she did. But right now all he could muster was the near inanimate state of staring at the bottles lined up within reach. There was enough alcohol here to put him in a coma and he was generally in favor of that idea right now. What was the point, after all? Why should he bother going on when all that had been important to him was gone?

He felt numb. There was a light tingle in his body, under his skin, that deafened his nerve endings and made him feel like this was all a dream. "To be, or not to be - that is the question - whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? - to die - to sleep - no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to - 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd. To die - to sleep - to sleep! perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil ..."

He snorted halfheartedly and closed his eyes. He never could remember all of that passage. Shakespeare had never been his strongest topic during history lessons and he'd always considered Hamlet to be a wounded bird that gave up too easily. He popped the top off one of the bottles and raised it toward the ceiling. "With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. - Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! - Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd." He took a swig of the bottle and made a face at the hot, molten lava running down his throat. "Should be Aeryn, shouldn't it?" he asked no one. "The fair Aeryn! - Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd." He emptied the bottle and threw it aside. It shattered against one of the ribs and a hoard of DRDs came racing in to clean it up.

He pulled the top off another bottle and took a moment to contemplate how fast he would get drunk. He hadn't eaten since the day before. His stomach was growling, hunger pangs rippling through him, but he knew his guts would quiet down once he poured some more of this crap into them. "From childhood's hour I have not been as others were; I have not seen as others saw; I could not bring my passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken my sorrow; I could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone; and all I loved, I loved alone." He made a face. Poe wasn't much better at dishing out hope. He knew why he remembered all these sad poems right now, why he could recite them without trouble even if he didn't remember all of them.

"Frell it," he growled and emptied the second bottle in one go, then sent it the same way as the first. He would get drunk fast today. Two bottles of extra strong raslac had already managed to twist his mind. "Ain't life just frelling beautiful?" he asked and raised another bottle toward the ceiling. "I will drink all of this," he added. "And if it kills me, so be it."

"Drinking yourself stupid will not accomplish anything."

Her tone made him cringe, but the hatred was gone, subdued by the alcohol he had already consumed. "Take a hike, Red. I'm not liking you much right now," he growled and emptied the next bottle.

Sikozu moved closer. "You are back. Does that mean you never went?"

"Oh, I went alright. And guess what? Scorpy doesn't have them, because you frelling killed them," he replied and grabbed the next bottle.

Sikozu lashed out and took it away from him, then wiped the rest of the bottles off the table top onto the floor where the majority of them shattered.

"Hey!" he snapped and tried to grab the one she had taken. "Those are mine."

"I did not kill them," she snarled. "He arranged it."

"You know what, Sputnik, I'm not going to get stuck between you two while you hash out your differences. There's only one thing I want ... well, there are a few, actually. I want Aeryn back. I want my son back. I want my friends back. In the whole of things, that's not a frelling lot to ask. Actually, there's a hell of a lot more I should ask for." He rose unsteadily, lashed out and snatched the bottle back from her. "I should ask for compensation for all the bullshit I've been through. I didn't frelling start this. I didn't ask for it. Why the frell do I have to pay so much, see so many people die, lose so many of my friends and loved ones? Who did I piss off so much that this is what Fate dishes out to me?"

She stared at him, her unfeeling eyes making him want to scream at her to get lost. Instead he laughed while tears rose in his eyes. "And you're all I've got left. A cold, derisive, logical, limb-reattaching bitch from hell. You think I want to help you? You've never given me anything other than pain. You've never made me feel anything other than base and stupid. Who the frell died and made you the master of the universe, you stuck-up stupid little brat?"

He didn't even register that there was emotion in her eyes, that she actually managed to look as hurt as he felt presently. He didn't care anyway. She had never done anything to help unless it was in her own favor. She had fallen for that sick twisted son-of-a-bitch Scorpius and hadn't even had the decency to admit that she'd been wrong about him.

"I reached out to you. I offered you help. But you were just too frelling smart to accept help from such a weak, feeble species," he growled. "Well, here's what it's brought you, you bitch. Get off my leviathan! Exact your own vengeance. I have no need for you and neither Pilot nor Moya want you around. So get lost. Scram. Frell off! Get your stuff together and leave before I space you." He wasn't yelling, wasn't even raising his voice. He was telling her what he felt and he meant every word of it.

She took a hesitant step back, her lips pressed together into a thin line. "Crichton ..." she tried, but he raised the bottle, pointing at her with the bottom of it.

"I'm not saying it again, Sputnik. You've been nothing but trouble since you turned up. I've had my fill of you. I can't stand you. You're the most corrosive creature I've ever met. Scorpius could be family compared to you," he said, pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and took a swig of the raslac.

Her peculiar eyes brimmed with tears as she took another step back, but to her credit she made no further attempts to talk her way out of it. John watched her leave and could honestly admit that he felt nothing at seeing her pain. "I'm not the frelling savior of the universe," he muttered and took another swig of the bottle.

It didn't take long before Pilot's image appeared on the clamshell. "Commander, she is gone," he said.

"Good riddance," John said and emptied the bottle. Then he crawled up over the table and looked down at the pile of broken glass in a puddle of raslac the DRDs were trying to clean up. Three of the bottles hadn't broken and he smiled at them as if they were long lost friends.

"Thank you, Commander, for making her leave. Moya and I have never met a more disagreeable person," Pilot added.

John glanced up at the clamshell, still smiling. "Same here, Pilot. I should have booted her off a long time ago," he agreed, slipped off the table and picked up the three whole bottles. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I'll go to my quarters and get drunk."

Pilot refrained from responding to that and it was just the same. He wouldn't have listened anyway. On unsteady legs, he made his way back to his quarters while Moya geared up for starburst and took a long jump away from the place where Sikozu had left them behind. John hoped never to see her again and vowed solemnly that he would kill her if she should ever return. She had deprived him of his chance of getting so drunk it might have killed him and Scorpy had blamed her for getting Aeryn and the others killed, just like she blamed him for it. It was hard to know who to believe and even harder for him to care. Sikozu had lied to him, made his hope bloom, only to crush it out again in the most heinous of ways, and he hated her for that. Scorpius had treated him kindly, which was off key and made him hate the half-breed even more.

"To hell with all of them," he whispered in a teary voice and dropped down on his bed without bothering to take off his belt or his boots.

" _What are you doing?_ "

He turned his head and eyed the phantom living in his mind nowadays, the ghost of Aeryn.

She was sitting on the edge of the gaming table, ankles crossed, her hands clasped in her lap, while she eyed him with her head cocked to one side, her long hair braided and hanging over one shoulder.

"Getting shitfaced," he countered and managed a half-grin that immediately turned into a grimace.

" _To what purpose?_ "

"No purpose," he countered and shook his head as much as he could without raising it off the bed. His vision blurred with tears rising in his eyes. "God, I miss you so much," he whispered hoarsely.

" _I know. Drinking yourself into oblivion won't bring me back, though,_ " she admonished kindly.

He grinned and rubbed his face into the pillow, clearing his eyes without having to release the bottles he was holding. "Wanna come over here and stop me?" he asked hopefully, some small part of him desperately wishing that she wasn't a dream.

She merely smiled and the next moment she was gone again.

He stared at the empty gaming table while more tears rose and trickled from his eyes. "Come back," he whispered, then snorted and pulled the cork from another bottle with his teeth. He spat it out and drank while lying down, spilling some of the raslac onto the pillow without noticing. Once again, he cried himself to sleep, his heart aching for what he had lost, his mind reeling in the fever-pitch dreams induced by the alcohol. There was not much more he could do than wallow in self-pity.

***

**Two monans later**

Time passed as time does in relative silence. Pilot tended to Moya's needs and kept an eye on Crichton through the DRDs. The Human barely spoke anymore and spent most of his days and nights in a drunken stupor. More than once Pilot wished there was something he could do, but in essence he knew this was something the Commander would have to work out on his own.

Pilot communed with Moya on this topic often, aware that the great leviathan felt her passenger's pain and shared it too. They were both affected by the absence of Aeryn Sun and it pained Pilot that Aeryn's young one had not grown older than half a cycle before he was destroyed together with his mother and friends.

Pilot adjusted the flow of Moya's vital fluids gently as the giant banked around a sun, soaking up the heat and the light as she glided by. There was no need for hurry these days. They had passed several command carriers already without trouble. It would appear that Scorpius had made good on his word to Crichton and had let them all go.

"Perhaps you would like to go to a commerce planet?" Pilot asked, directing his attention to Crichton, who was sitting on the floor in front of his station, his back leaning against it, while he fiddled with something that he was slowly peeling to pieces without a word.

"Nah," Crichton countered and sighed. There was one unspoken rule between them and it was one that Crichton abided by at all times. Pilot had no need to watch him drink himself silly and therefore alcohol was not permitted in his den.

"Would it not be good for you to be among others like you?" Pilot enquired. It had always been his opinion that Humans as well as Sebaceans didn't thrive on loneliness. Especially not Crichton. He had never met anyone who had a higher need for companionship.

Crichton snorted, leaned his head back against Pilot's station and closed his eyes. "There's nobody like me out here, Pilot," he said.

Pilot had to agree with that although he did so silently. In truth it did not bother him that Crichton hung around his den some of the time. What did bother him, though, was that Crichton was obviously set on killing himself slowly. And, being unable to fully comprehend bipeds in general, Pilot was grasping at straws on how to help the unhappy Human.

After a moment of silence had passed between them, Crichton climbed to his feet. "I'll go lie down for a bit. I'm wasted," he muttered and slowly made his way across the bridge to the door.

Pilot watched him go and emphasized with his pain. But this ability to give up so completely without being able to let go puzzled Pilot.

An incoming comm-call diverted his attention away from Crichton, though. It was rare to receive any communication, but Pilot assumed it was either a hail from the nearby commerce planet for identification or someone offering something or other for the crew of Moya to buy.

***

John dropped unceremoniously down on the bed and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember when he'd stopped caring about himself, about eating every day. He couldn't really remember when he'd had a full meal the last time and most of the time it didn't matter. When he woke up after another long period of drinking his brains out, he was usually so disgusted with himself that he took a shower and then spent some time with Pilot. The nearness of another being, even one as alien from his own species as Pilot was, made up for a lot. But it didn't fill the dark, screaming void inside him that was growing bigger all the time.

He had the idea that it would swallow him whole someday, that he'd drink until he passed out and then he just wouldn't wake up any more. And it sounded like a gilded promise to him nowadays.

When he was lying here, like this, he usually saw her in his mind like he'd seen Harvey before. And she was always kind and understanding and loving him no matter what. It tore him apart that she wasn't there any more, that he couldn't feel her touch or wrap his arms around her and hold her close; her and little D and Chiana and Rygel.

He smiled joylessly and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. When he removed his hand, she was back, sitting on the edge of the gaming table, smiling at him.

"Hey, babe," he rasped. She continued to smile and just sat there. Reaching a hand out towards her, he was dying to touch her. "Come over here," he whispered.

She rose and sauntered over, then hunkered down just shy of his outstretch hand. " _Why are you doing this to yourself, John? It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done._ "

He pressed his lips together and stopped reaching for her. Instead he pressed a fist against his lips.

" _I know you hurt. But you shouldn't give up, John. There are other people out there. You can find another special someone to love, have other children. Death is not the end. We'll meet again._ "

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face down into the pillow. "I don't want someone else. I want you," he whispered and allowed himself to sail away on another lingering bout of misery.

The thought that he should have stayed on the command carrier, should have turned Sikozu over to Scorpius and just stayed with that frelled-up half-breed had crossed his mind more than once. After all, there was nothing Scorpius could do to him now that would make him feel any worse and at least he'd have company.

Well aware that she would be gone when he opened his eyes again, he did so nonetheless and found he was wrong. She wasn't hunkered down just out of reach any more. She was standing by the door now. And she looked slightly different. Her hair was loose, her clothing different. It was something he'd never seen her in before. Tan leather rather than the standard black. Unsure of where that dream came from, he pushed himself up on his elbows and wondered why she wasn't smiling. Every time he saw her, she was smiling. Now she wasn't. There was a stormy darkness in her eyes, a concern so deep-rooted that it would take a lifetime to erase it.

"John." She whispered his name. It was nothing more than a breath escaping from her lungs.

Slowly he sat up, uncertain of this phantom. Was his mind disintegrating from all the alcohol he'd had? Or was this his darker side trying to kick him back into gear?

"What the frell have you done to yourself?" she asked, her voice a little louder, but still barely above a whisper.

Before he could think of an appropriate reply, she strode over to him, squatted down in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. He looked down at them, at her hands, on his knees, and he felt the warmth seeping through the fabric of his pants; the warmth of life. Blinking almost sluggishly, he looked up again to meet her eyes, steely blue, swirling with darkness, fear and sadness.

He stared at her, felt her, and slowly his mind began to wrap itself around the possibility that this might be, could be, maybe even should be, the real deal. As if to confirm this new-found thought, a child started wailing somewhere, an angry tone to the voice. The sound was of a child being restrained from doing what it wanted.

Aeryn glanced toward the wall, then looked back up at him. "Are you sober?" she asked.

He too glanced at the wall, at the latticework, and saw the shadows dancing along the floor out there. Moving shadows accompanied by footsteps and the whirr of a thronesled. "You're real," he muttered and returned his attention to her. She was still there, her hand still on his knees, the concern still swirling in her eyes. "You're here," he added a little louder. "But ... you died."

"Almost, yes," she agreed. "The explosion would have killed us if it hadn't been for Rygel. He saw the bomb, got us out before it blew."

He felt like laughing. It wasn't real, couldn't be. But then he remembered his dive into the past, the memory of hearing Little D screaming even after the blast. "Rygel," he whispered.

At that very moment, the thronesled rounded into his quarters and the little Hynerian Dominar brought his thronesled to a halt and eyed him. "You look like dren, Crichton," he stated, but there was a note of affinity in his voice. "And fahrbot to boot."

Chiana stepped in after him with a toddler straddling her hip. The kid was fighting her with everything he had, but she held him tightly, a smile on her lips. "For once Ryg is right. You do look like dren, Crichton."

He glanced from one to the other, his gaze lingering briefly on the boy, then he settled it on Aeryn again. Finally, he plugged up the courage to reach out and touch her. If she vanished now, if there was nothing but air there, he would go mad. He knew that without a doubt. His heart could not take another mirage, another blooming of his hope that would be trod out like a glowing ember. But his hand connected with skin as he cupped it against her face. "You're alive," he whispered in a tear-filled voice, still not really able to comprehend.

Aeryn smiled, tears in her eyes too. "So are you," she countered and covered his hand with hers. "We thought you were dead. We thought the blast killed you. And then you were gone. We tried to find you, but you were always one step ahead of us."

He couldn't stop himself; he started sobbing like a little child as he pulled Aeryn into his arms and hugged her so tightly, it had to hurt her. But she said nothing, only hugged him back just as hard.

Eventually, she leaned back a little, wrapped her hands around his face and wiped the tears away with her thumbs. "Stop it," she said with a smile. "We're here, we're alive, we're together."

She had been crying too. Her face was all wet. Then he looked over at the others, looked at them standing there like he'd hoped they would all the time, and he felt fresh tears spilling down his face. But they were accompanied by a wide grin.

They rose together and for the first time in a long while John actually felt his body. And he felt weak like a drowned kitten. But that did not stop him from closing the distance to the others, his right arm wrapped securely around Aeryn. He hugged and kissed Chiana, reveling in the fact that she was here, alive, in one piece. Then he kissed Rygel on the head without a word. Finally he turned his attention to the boy straddling Chiana's hip. The kid eyed him, very alert for a child his age, then reached a pudgy hand out to him.

John released Aeryn and picked up his son. The kid was almost too heavy for him right now, but he refused to let go or let the fatigue get the better of him. "Hey buddy," he whispered, not trusting his voice too much right now.

Little D pursed his lips and frowned deeply. Then he made a face and turned his head away from John.

"You smell," Aeryn translated.

John let out a bark of a laugh, kissed his son's pudgy little cheek and handed him back to Chiana. Chiana leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed Rygel's thronesled and dragged him with her out of the cell.

Aeryn eyed John for a long moment, then grabbed his arm and turned him toward the mirror. "Look at yourself," she said quietly. "What the frell have you done to yourself?"

He eyed his reflection in the mirror and had to admit, reluctantly, that she had a point. He looked awful; nothing but skin and bones, cheeks sunken, with dark patches under his eyes. "I haven't been eating much," he confessed shakily.

"No, I saw your 'diet' in the center chamber," she agreed. "We'll have to do something about that and fast. You're one step away from being undernourished. Chiana will make you some food. We brought supplies."

He grinned, then pulled her into a bone-crushing hug again. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," he whispered into her hair.

"About as much as I've missed you," she countered, then pushed him away. "You stink. Go take a shower. I'll find you something clean to wear," she added.

For a moment he hesitated, not sure he wanted to let her out of his sight. She might vanish again and he wouldn't survive that if she did.

"I'll be here when you get back out," she said as if she could read his mind. "Go! Shoo! D'Argo won't come anywhere near you until you've bathed. He said he could smell you the microt we got off the pod."

"Nice," he countered and decided this probably was for real. No vision of his had ever been so bossy. "You'd better not go anywhere," he added just in case.

"I won't. I'll be right here," she promised.

***

The water cascaded down over him, washing away the stink of sorrow and defeat, while he leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes closed, his neck bent. Through the din of the falling water, he listened to the silent ship, to the absence of sound, and wondered if his mind had finally snapped.

Some part of his subconscious mind knew what the silence out there meant, but for now he would not think of it, would not focus on anything other than the sedate feeling it gave him to have held Aeryn, to have kissed his son, to know that Chiana and Rygle and D'Argo were around, waiting for him.

"To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil," he whispered and smiled vaguely. Dreams weren't so bad, not when they allowed him to feel like this.

A while later, he finally turned the water off, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stepped out of the shower unit. The silence was almost touchable and much more so when he stepped back into his quarters and came to a stop. There were no fresh clothes on the bed and no sound to be heard.

Melancholy hung in the air like a flavor, bitter-sweet and softly evasive, leaving him longing for more, but he knew within his heart that there was no more. Even so, he listened for the sounds that rightfully should have been there, the sound of ghosts in a ship of lies. "Aeryn?" He spoke her name softly, hoping against hope that she would answer him, that she would turn up from somewhere and chid him for dripping on the floor.

But there was nothing but silence out there. Nothing but emptiness and loneliness. "Should have known," he muttered and shook his head lightly. "Should have seen it coming." But she was right, no matter which version of her. He couldn't go on this way. "Either end it or pull yourself together," he told himself quietly, then glanced up at the ceiling. "Pilot?" he called.

"Yes, Commander?" Pilot replied at once, telling him without doubt that he had been listening.

John grinned ruefully. "We don't have any visitors, do we?" he asked. Despite everything, he needed confirmation. He needed to know the truth.

"No, Commander," Pilot replied, sounding sad.

"Didn't think so," he said and sighed. "Are we still anywhere near that commerce planet?"

"Yes, we are," Pilot countered, sudden hope in his voice.

"I think I need to get some supplies. There isn't much to eat around here," he said with a vague smile.

"That sounds like a good idea, Commander," Pilot said and John could hear the relief in his voice. He knew that Pilot had been very worried about him.

Despite the lack of reality in the vision he'd had, he could still feel Aeryn's arms around him, could still smell that unblemished baby-smell his son would undoubtedly give off if he were still alive, and it would sustain him. He lacked the courage to kill himself and, to an extent, the drive as well, and since dying slowly from too much drink and too little food was not a preferable way to go out, he figured he just had to pull himself together and get back in the saddle. Maybe, some day in the near future, he would be able to find a way to get back to Earth and seal it off from here forever.

He smiled, then turned around to face the ghost of Aeryn. "You're right," he said. "I can't keep doing this to myself. So I'm gonna suck it up and get back out there and do whatever I can." She smiled. "Just promise me one thing. Don't you ever go away."

" _I'll be right here whenever you need me,_ " she promised and he believed her, because she only existed in his mind and it was his imagination that conjured her up. In that sense he would never be alone.

*** ****

**Four monans later**

Another commerce planet, another sector of the Uncharted Territories. John was still able to feel a certain amount of wonder at all the different species he encountered, but in general he was not interested in others. Commerce planets relieved his at times aching need for contemporary companionship, but once he got there, he bought the few things he needed, bartered his way to more cash and ended up leaving without really connecting with anyone.

Pilot had become his confidant and closest friend and it had been ages since he had seen a wanted beacon. Not a single Peacekeeper had looked at him twice and that was as it should be.

The humdrum of this particular commerce planet was no different than any other he'd been on and John took a moment to stop and stare up at the blue sky over him. So many of these worlds looked like Earth from a distance. And all of them were so unlike his home world that it was almost painful at times. It was the familiar he missed, the contemporary company of another male or female who could relate to him without having to twist his or her imagination.

The absence of his friends and family made it hard to breathe at times, but he had reached a point where thinking of them didn't make him choke up any more and he really had no more tears left to shed. But he did feel the void inside him opening up again, sucking away all happiness for the time being. At those times he wanted to grab the nearest bottle of booze and drink himself into oblivion, but then he thought better of it and returned to Moya and communed with Pilot. And that always made him feel better.

He made a face, hefted the bag of spare parts to be bartered away over one shoulder and continued into the buzz of the market place. First he got rid of the parts, which loaded his pockets with currency. Then he went shopping for a few essentials.

"Are those for sale in bigger quantities?" he asked a vendor who was making grolash.

The vendor eyed him for a second, then shrugged. "Yes, if you want. But they are better fresh."

"I know," John agreed with a rueful smile. "I'm just not a whiz in the kitchen, so ... how long can they last if they're refrigerated?"

The vendor shrugged again. "Up to a monan," he said. "All you have to do is reheat them before consumption. The taste just goes a little stale in the end."

"I can live with that. Give me enough for a monan," he said and paid the man.

"Crichton!"

He stopped short and stared ahead of himself, then eased the bag of grolash onto the ground and turned around. "Well, look at what the cat dragged in," he said and made no move to smile. "Sikozu Shanu. What brings you to the butthole of the universe?"

She sneered, as usual affronted by his choice of words. "I see that your attitude has changed," she stated.

"I see yours hasn't," he countered. "What are you doing, Sikozu? Following me?"

"As a matter of fact yes," she admitted.

"Well, find yourself another hobby, Red. I'm not going to fight your war for you and I'm not going to get you close to Scorpy either. He let me go and I'm counting my blessings," John said and started to turn away.

"I have seen the Luxan," she was quick to say.

John paused and glanced back at her. "The Luxan?" he asked and briefly wondered which one she might mean. Jothee, maybe?

"Your Luxan. D'Argo," she specified.

Even after this long, it still felt like a slap to the face and it made him angry that her words stoked the fire that was threatening to consume him at any given moment. "Contrary to what you believe, Ms. Britannica, I'm not an idiot. D'Argo's dead. Why don't you just give it up? It's not going to work."

Before he could make another move, she had grabbed his arm. "He is here, on this planet. He is searching for you."

John glanced down at her hand on his arm and then looked up to meet her eyes. "Right," he said and pulled out of her grip. "Tell that to someone who cares."

Without another look back, he grabbed what he'd bought and headed back toward the pod, intent on leaving this commerce planet behind and forgetting what he'd heard. That bitch would really stoop so low as to pretend she'd seen D'Argo? Obviously nothing was sacred to her any more.

He stepped around the pod when he reached it and came to an immediate stop when he realized someone was there waiting for him. The bag with the grolash slipped out of his hand and hit the ground with a wet slap. John's immediate inclination was to reach for Winona and aim her at this obvious phantom. But in truth he couldn't move. He was frozen to the spot. It had been a while since he'd stopped hallucinating and had started accepting reality. And this phantom was messing it all up.

D'Argo stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his expression serious. There was no doubt in John's mind that this was D'Argo, but he was exceptionally careful about accepting what he saw. He'd seen too many ghosts in his time to believe outright.

"John," D'Argo finally said. "You are very hard to keep up with."

A quick glance around showed John that they were alone. "You're dead," he claimed, then snorted when the futility of that comment hit him like a ton of bricks. "Again," he added.

"We have been one step behind you for a cycle now, John. Every frelling time we thought we could catch up with you, you vanished again," D'Argo continued, his tone grave, his expression not wavering from the serious.

"Right," John agreed, trying to dismiss this as a remnant of his hallucinations. "And you're real and all that. I get it. My mind's acting up. I've been thinking about you guys too much again." He reached down to pick up the bag he'd dropped and gave D'Argo a tired look. "Would you mind moving? I can't get into the pod if you're in the way. And there's no way I'm going to walk through you."

The Luxan frowned. "What the frell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Nothing, D. Just move, okay? I'm not in the mood for mind games right now." He wished this vision would just go away, that his subconscious mind would stop conjuring up images of his lost friends. Only rarely did they become as annoying as this, but he knew where it came from; his own annoyance at Sikozu's lies as well as the fact that she had claimed to have seen D'Argo. There was a logical explanation for all this crap and that was it.

"You think I'm a figment of your imagination?" D'Argo asked and there was a dangerous tone to his voice. "You're more frelled than that blasted Kalish claimed."

"No more so than that I know the difference by now," John argued and wondered how stupid he had to look to others if they saw him arguing with thin air. "Just get out of the way or vanish or whatever the hell it is you figments do when you're through tormenting me."

D'Argo's response to that was to lash out at him. His fist connected squarely with John's jaw, hammering him off his feet and onto his back. The impact hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the shock it was to be physically attacked by what he considered to be a figment of his imagination.

"Does that feel like a figment to you?" D'Argo demanded angrily. "Would you snap out of it and listen to me?" he added and held a hand out to John.

At first all he could think of doing was rub his jaw lightly. He flinched at the bruised pain and then looked up at D'Argo, really seeing him for the first time. "You're real," he muttered, but then shook his head. "Nah, you can't be. I thought Aeryn was real too and she wasn't. I turned my back and then she was gone."

D'Argo hissed with annoyance, grabbed the front of his t-shirt with both hands and yanked him back to his feet. This close up and personal the peculiar smell that was a Luxan made him even more real to John. "I am not a frelling figment of your imagination. What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

John grinned helplessly. He didn't really think that imaginary friends could feel that real. Then again, the clone of Scorpius had been able to throw him around. That had been implemented by the chip in his brain, of course, but still. "You're dead, D. You died. We left you behind and you died."

"I got better," the Luxan huffed. "Saved by that frelling Kalish."

Somewhat reluctantly, John wrapped his hands around D'Argo's wrists, felt the warmth and the solidness and wondered if he'd completely cracked by now. "You got better? You were dying, on a world that blew up moments after we left it, and you got better?"

For a moment all they could do was to stare at each other. Then D'Argo sighed. "Alright, I grant you that this sounds farfetched, but yes. Sikozu found me, together with that Grnshlik and they had a ship. We got out just in time. Grnshlik fixed me up and I spent a monan on my back, recovering."

The thing was that it sounded plausible. It didn't really sound that farfetched. But it raised issues in him that he could barely stand to consider, issues that made his skin crawl. They had left D'Argo behind to die, yet he hadn't died. He had survived. And despite his previous idea that he had no more tears left to shed, he still felt them rising in his eyes. "You're real?" he whispered.

That brought a smile to D'Argo's lips. "Yes, my friend. I am real," he confirmed and to support that claim, he yanked John into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Aw, too tight, big guy," John gasped.

D'Argo released him again and John spent a moment rubbing his sore chest. "You look like dren, my friend," D'Argo said, his tone bordering on concern. "Sikozu tells me that you think Aeryn and the others are dead."

John grimaced. Now there was a topic he really didn't want to get into. "No, D, they are dead. I was there. I saw the explosion," he said quietly and couldn't help staring at the Luxan. "Man, I can't believe you're here. I can't ..." He stopped because his voice broke and he knew he couldn't go on right now.

D'Argo wrapped his hands around his face, forcing him to look him in the eye. "I am here. And you are no longer alone, John," he said seriously. "And together we shall find out if that frelling Kalish is telling the truth."

John swallowed hard, nodded weakly, and wondered just how long this figment would stay around for, because he really could not convince himself that it was real, that D'Argo was back from the dead. "Great," he managed and cleared his throat. "That sounds like a great plan, D."

"And I can tell that you still do not believe," D'Argo said, released him and took a step back. "You will come around."

"Whatever you say," John agreed.

***

It had taken some doing, but John had managed to convince D'Argo to leave Sikozu behind. It hadn't suited her at all, obviously, but John had simply refused to take her along and Pilot had more than once made it abundantly clear that neither he nor Moya had any love left for the Kalish.

Even after they had left orbit and Moya had starburst several times to make sure Sikozu didn't follow them, John was still convinced that the Luxan was a figment of his imagination. What he couldn't really handle was the hope his old friend tried to instill in him. He'd been there before and had been burned badly. He was in too frail a state of mind to even consider giving in to that hope.

The whole experience had been exhausting and tiptoeing around someone he should be delighted to have back made him a bit of a nervous wreck; so nervous that it took him two full solardays before he was tired enough to sleep. In part, he guessed, it was also because he was nervous like all hell that D'Argo would be gone when he woke up again.

When he finally gave up and fell into bed, he did so with a heavy heart. He was convinced that he would wake up alone again and it broke something inside him he thought was already broken. "It's been fun while it lasted," he muttered into the pillow before sleep claimed him.

***

"Crichton!"

John reared up at the sound of that voice and nearly headbutted D'Argo off the bed where he was leaning over him.

It was only because D'Argo had obviously anticipated a violent awakening that neither of them got hurt. "Easy," D'Argo said with a smile. "It's only me."

The first few seconds of full awareness were spent with staring. Then, before John could consciously think about what he was doing, he had thrown his arms around D'Argo and was hugging the Hezmana out of him. Fortunately, the Luxan did not take offence and only chuckled.

Somewhat embarrassed and not really caring, John finally got off the bed and then spent another minute just staring at D'Argo. "You have no idea how good it is to see you again," he finally said and was a little appalled at how rough his voice was.

"I feel the same way, John," D'Argo assured him and gave him a look of heartfelt empathy. "I however never thought you were dead, which makes all the difference here."

"Right," John agreed before sending a brief look around to assess what time it might be. Either he had slept briefly or he had been out for an entire solarday, because the lighting levels were just about at the same as they were when he'd dozed off. "How long was I out?"

"Close to a solarday. I let you sleep because I figured you needed it," D'Argo said and clamped a hand onto John's shoulder. "Do you feel rested, my friend?"

It took a moment to asses that, but John finally nodded. "Yeah, I do," he agreed with a vague smile. "You're really here, aren't you?"

His question did not seem to please D'Argo, who eyed him a little sadly. "Are you so far gone that you cannot tell the difference?" he countered. "It must have been a horrible cycle for you."

"That's one way of putting it," John agreed.

Together they went to the center chamber for early meal and settled down across from each other and for the first time in a long time, John actually managed to enjoy the food he put in his mouth.

"So ... anything up since you couldn't let me sleep?" John asked after a moment and gave D'Argo a crooked little smile.

The Luxan snorted. "You bounce back fast, my friend," he stated and picked a piece of grolash apart. "And yes, there is a reason for that I woke you."

The seriousness with which this was stated made John a little antsy. "Are we in danger?"

D'Argo's expression tensed a little. "Would we be sitting here, having early meal, if we were?" he countered and shook his head lightly. "No, we are not in danger. We have, however, received a message. As a response to the one I sent out half a solarday ago."

"You sent a message? To whom?" John asked. He had that crawling sensation that he was being set up somehow and he realized his outlook on life had changed considerably since coming to this part of the universe. Despite having convinced himself that D'Argo was indeed real, he was suspicious of this message and the reply it had earned.

D'Argo obviously picked up on his concern and shook his head lightly with a smile on his lips. "You are severely paranoid, you know that?" he asked. "I have made many friends in the cycle I have been away from Moya and I have left word with a few of them I felt I could trust to keep their eyes out for our lost shipmates. I told them I would be in touch once I found my ship and one of them responded to my query."

The niggling uncertainty and suspicion began to morph. "And?" John pressed, the food on his plate forgotten.

The twinkle in D'Argo's eyes along with the small smile tugging at his lips should perhaps have been answer enough, but the Luxan was aware of John's need to be verbally convinced as well. "A very curious group of travelers has come through the station where this friend lives. He approached them and has informed them of my message. Pilot has sent our coordinates and we are awaiting this group right now. A Sebacean female with a child, a Nebari female and a Hynerian Royal. I doubt there are two of such groups in this universe."

His mind stalled. He couldn't think, couldn't fathom that this might be happening, and so said nothing. He just sat and stared at D'Argo.

"They're coming home, John. All of them," D'Argo said. "They should be here within a solarday. I considered letting you sleep until then, but I assumed that it might be best to inform you first. The shock might kill you." This he said with mirth in his voice, but John could merely nod in agreement. He was pretty sure it would have killed him to have them come back like that. It would have been too much like that dream.

"That was a smart idea," he agreed quietly. "Are you sure it's them? I mean ... how can you be sure?"

D'Argo gave him a narrowed look. "I knew you would say that," he said and turned his attention toward the clamshell. "Pilot, could you please show the message we received?"

"Certainly, Ka D'Argo," Pilot replied.

An image of a stranger appeared on the clamshell. "Ka D'Argo. I have received your message and am happy to tell you that the party of your interest has been spotted. They are currently residing on this very station, awaiting word from you," the male said. He looked a bit Sebacean but was overall too green to be one.

There was movement in the background and then suddenly a very familiar face leaned into the camera's view frame. "Is John with you, D'Argo?" Aeryn asked. "Let us know as soon as you can."

"That should be proof enough," D'Argo said and eyed John closely.

All John could do was to stare at the recording.

Aeryn withdrew again and he found himself teetering on the edge of wanting to reach out, wanting to beg her to come back.

"As soon as you send your coordinates, your group will be on the way. Fly safe," the green male said and the message winked out.

"How long ago did you receive this?" John finally asked when he managed to pry his eyes off the now empty clamshell.

"Two arns ago. They should be well on the way by now," D'Argo countered and smirked. "Eat, my friend. Judging from the look in Aeryn's eyes, you are going to need your stamina."

The implied outcome of their reunion didn't really sink in. "One solarday," he muttered and met D'Argo's eyes again. "Is this real?"

"Shall I pinch you?" D'Argo asked good-naturedly.

"It'll take more than a pinch," John countered. "This is so surreal."

D'Argo nodded. "The moment you hold her in your arms again, you will believe, my friend," he assured him. "All it takes now is a little patience."

***

Patience, as it turned out, was in short supply these days. He wavered between denial and anxious elation and since he could settle on neither, he was driving himself, Pilot and D'Argo crazy with his constant questions and subsequent denial of their reassurances.

He ended up withdrawing to the bay where the Farscape was residing and just sat on a work bench and stared aimlessly at the module. Some part of him knew that if this was another dream, another hallucination, he would go stark raving mad. He would most likely jump out the nearest airlock and just end it. And the part of him that was in denial - which constituted about sixty to seventy percent of him at this point - was all in favor of that as it were. It was that thirty percent piece of him that had dreamt so long and hard about holding her in his arms again that stayed his hand. D'Argo was real. He had finally come to that conclusion and this mainly because D'Argo hadn't vanished while he slept. But that didn't mean Aeryn would turn up on Moya within the next twenty-odd hours. That was the promise, of course, but he couldn't and wouldn't believe it until she was there. And even then he would have a hard time believing until her reality had been established as fact.

"John?"

He turned a little and glanced back at the door opening, finding D'Argo there. "Hey, D," he said and returned his attention fully to the module.

"Are you alright?" The Luxan came to a stop next to the workbench and eyed the Farscape for a moment before glancing at him.

It was a loaded question in John's opinion. Since coming out here, he had been teetering on the edge of insanity for too long and his ability to produce life-like hallucinations now was a very dangerous thing. "Define alright," he countered without taking his eyes off the module.

"I understand your reluctance to believe, John," D'Argo claimed, leaned his hip against the edge of the workbench and folded his arms over his chest.

"Do you?" He couldn't help a chuckle and wondered if it sounded as crazy as it felt. "I've been on the edge of the abyss since that explosion ... hell, even before that. Scorpy's chair started this for me. Over the last cycle, I have seen Aeryn and lost her again countless times. She turned up and then she vanished again. And every time it happened ... the pain was just as potent as the first time. And there's just so many times that I can go through that without cracking, you know?" He folded his hands to keep them still. "I keep going over it in my head. I keep seeing the explosion. And since Sikozu claimed they weren't dead, I keep thinking I heard Little D wailing even after the explosion. And it tears me up that I lost them all and that I've believed they were dead and had to put up with Ms. Britannica's downright acidic nature." He glanced down at his interlaced fingers and frowned because he hadn't noticed how cramped together they were. He loosened the grip a little. "I tolerated her because ..." He stopped dead, a frown furrowing his brow. Then he glanced sideways at D'Argo. "She saved you, huh?"

"Yes, her and that Grnshlik," D'Argo agreed.

"And then what? You've been searching for us ever since?" John prodded, following a trail of thought that might yet prove this to be an erratic hallucination of some sort.

"Well, both yes and no. As I said, I was incapacitated for about a monan. The microt we set down on the nearest commerce planet, Sikozu took off. She claimed she would look for you and apparently she found you too," D'Argo said. "Why? What are you thinking?"

His thoughts were a bit jumbled right now and made little sense. "I don't know. I just find it hard to believe anything she says. But ... she claims she saved me from Scorpius and his men, that they had set the explosion and where after me. Scorpius claims that Sikozu set the explosion and if I had remained, he would have helped me. But he was convinced that Aeryn and the others were dead."

"John, you know very well that Scorpius will manipulate the truth to get his way. And Sikozu seems set on the same. They are match made in Hezmana, those two. Why that didn't work out is beyond me," D'Argo countered with a grimace. "Fact is that Aeryn is alive. You saw her on the recording. And I have no reason to believe that my friend would have manipulated the recording."

"So ... you believe they'll be here in one day and that all will go back to normal after that?" John asked and shifted a little to better face D'Argo.

"That is my hope, yes," D'Argo agreed and gave him a somewhat beleaguered look. "I am hoping, though. I have no real facts."

John eyed him for a moment longer before sighing deeply. "See, that's what I would have liked to have from either of those two. But I don't know what to believe. I'm afraid to believe. I'm afraid what it'll do to me if I do believe and it turns out to be a lie."

D'Argo considered his words silently for a moment. "Then remain cautiously hopeful until they arrive, John. Do not give up hope, do not deny it, but keep it in check."

And there it was. It was all so simple when it came from someone else, wasn't it? "Keep it in check," he muttered and couldn't help a chuckle. "Yeah. Good idea, D. And how exactly do I do that?"

"Do something other than sit around and wait. Distract yourself. Go for a run, work on your module, tidy up one of the bays. Anything that will keep your mind occupied until they arrive," D'Argo suggested.

All good suggestions, John mused, but for the one detail that he knew would hobble him if he tried this. As long as he was awake, he would think about this supposed arrival every second of every minute of every hour until they did or did not arrive. And it would make focusing on anything a pain if not an impossibility. "I've got a better idea," he said and slipped off the workbench. "I'm gonna go sleep. Wake me up when you hear something."

Obviously this decision was surprising to D'Argo, but to his credit the Luxan had nothing to say to the matter other than, "Rest well, my friend."

***

To John's immediate surprise, he was actually able to sleep. Lack of it over the past cycle was probably contributing to it now, but it still surprised him when he woke up again to realize he'd dozed off. With no real way of telling how long he had been out, he was off the bed before he had a chance to think. "Pilot?" he called.

"Yes, Commander," Pilot replied instantly.

"Any word?" That question came out a little rough and he felt his stomach cramp up in sheer anticipation.

"Ka D'Argo is on his way to you to wake you up. The shuttle will land in a few microts," Pilot countered and he sounded very pleased.

Cold sweat broke out on his brow and he was confused by his own reaction to the situation. This should be a moment of joy, yet he felt almost nauseous with tension. A little dizzy, he grabbed hold of the latticework of the wall to steady himself. "That's great," he managed.

"Commander?" Pilot now sounded concerned. "Are you alright?"

He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, Pilot. I'm fine," he said after a moment, then pushed away from the wall and straightened up. "Just ... nervous."

"It's time." D'Argo had obviously overheard his conversation with Pilot.

"Yeah, D, I know," he agreed and tried a tentative smile.

"You look like dren, my friend," D'Argo observed and only then did John realize that he was sweating profusely and was probably pale as a ghost too.

"Got a little anxious there," he admitted and managed a better smile the second time around. "I'm fine, though. I'll be fine."

Looking unconvinced, D'Argo nonetheless waved at the door. "Shall we?"

"Might as well," John agreed. He figured he was equal parts excited and scared out of his mind right now. Only time would tell which would win.

***

When the bay doors started to cycle open, John just stood there and stared at them. The shuttle came into view and it was a sleek, white thing that looked like someone's private yacht. "You think they stole it?" he asked and glanced at D'Argo, who was eying the yacht as well.

"I doubt it. This must be a gift from Me'khar," he said. "He's a merchant and very wealthy. It looks like his kind of yacht."

"A gift?" John pursed his lips and wondered what new wonders a vehicle like that might hold. Then he shifted his attention along its side, searching for the door, until he figured it had to be a backside entrance like in D'Argo's ship. "That's one hell of a gift," he muttered.

"Not really. For a man like Me'khar, this is a trifle," D'Argo said.

Any further conversation was cut short by a sound very familiar to both of them; the whirr of a thronesled. Rygel the Sixteenth rounded the back of the yacht and steered right towards them and John could honestly say that he had never seen anything more beautiful.

"Ryg," he muttered and blinked rapidly to keep his raging emotions in check for a moment longer.

The little Dominar brought his thronesled to a halt and smiled. "I never thought I'd say this, but it is good to see you, Crichton," he said.

Nodding, John took a step forward. "Right back at ya, your Eminence," he countered with tears in his eyes.

Rygel arched an earbrow. "Finally he gets it right," he huffed, but the underlying bemusement and emotion was very evident.

All John could do was chuckle before he turned his attention back to the yacht's backend and the second figure emerging.

Chiana let out a squeal of delight and literally threw herself at both of them, the force of her impact driving them together, and she spent a moment just kissing both of them repeatedly before she released John and aimed all of her attention at D'Argo.

In the commotion, the final two occupants of the yacht had disembarked. Aeryn stood there, alive and radiant as ever, and watched with a slight smile on her lips. On the floor next to her, clinging to her leg, was a boy who looked to John to be at least four years old. He stared at the kid for a second, then decided it could wait and focused on her instead. And for the longest moment all he could do was just stare.

Aeryn took a slow step toward him while the boy remained behind, watching with big eyes. The smile on her lips became a little more everything. "There you are," she finally said.

Somehow, those words got through to John like none other would have. Before he could consciously consider his next step, he had yanked her into a hard embrace, his fingers weaving desperately into her hair, his eyes closed. This and only this could convince him of her reality; holding her, sensing her, feeling her alive and warm in his arms. The scent that was so much Aeryn filled his nose and he could barely breathe around the feelings that surged through him.

Aeryn hugged him back, her right hand restlessly moving up and down his back while her left cupped the back of his head and for a moment that lasted forever they just stood there, holding each other, until John suddenly leaned back and eyed her. He had no words, couldn't even think of any words that might convey how he felt, so instead he just kissed her, deeply, hungrily. His hands wrapped around her face and he stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones, feeling her, tasting her, never wanting to let her go again.

She was the one to break the kiss, her hands wrapped around his wrists, her eyes alight with a fire he recognized.

"Come on, Deke," Chiana said, picked up the boy and positioned him on her hip. "Those two frellnicks need a little time to themselves."

Some part of him knew this wasn't the best start to meeting his son, but right now John could not see beyond Aeryn and she didn't seem to mind the somewhat rough attention he lavished her with right now.

D'Argo, Chiana and Rygel left the bay and silence settled over the area.

With tears in his eyes, he just kept staring at her, took in every line, every curve of her face. "I've missed you so much," he finally managed and was a little appalled by how unsteady his voice was.

"And I you," she countered evenly and gently pulled his hands away from her face. "When we couldn't find you after the explosion ... I feared the worst."

He snorted helplessly. "I thought you were dead. All of you," he said and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close again. "I can't believe you're here," he added and brushed his fingers through her hair, feeling the silky smooth heaviness of it while the fear and elation were vying for control.

"But I am," she said. "It's been so long and I've both hoped for and feared this day. And now that it's here, I ... don't know how to respond."

That made him chuckle a little crazily. "Me too," he agreed. "You're so ... alive."

This made her smile a little wider. "And you are as tinked as ever," she countered. "It's been a long trip, John. But we're together again. Like we should be."

He nodded, pulled her into another hug and couldn't convince himself to let go again until she pulled back a little.

"Let's join the others. We have plenty of time now," she suggested while brushing her fingertips over his face. "You're thinner. What have you been eating."

"Dren," he admitted. "Food wasn't foremost on my mind."

"Drannit," she said affectionately and leaned in to kiss him briefly. "Let's see if we can't convince Chiana to whip up a feast," she added.

He had no idea how long it would be before the urge to deny this as real would pop up, but until it did he would relish every second with her. "Forget food," he whispered and scooped her up in his arms, surprising her. "It's been too long."

***

The dream would last him a while, he figured. They lay together, naked, spooned against each other, worn from their reunion. She was asleep, nested against him like she belonged there and he had his face buried in her hair, inhaling her scent with every breath he took, while his mind cringed at the need for sleep. He was tired, worn thin from too much sorrow, and he knew it would be a matter of time before sleep claimed him. And he feared it, because ... would she still be there when he woke up again? Would any of them? Or had he taken complete leave of his senses now? Would this be his future? Not memories but hallucinations of how it could be and never would?

He shifted his head a little, tightened his grip on her, and she muttered in her sleep, her arm slipping back over him, her nails racking over the skin on the small of his back. He closed his eyes, sucked up the attention she gave him even in sleep, and felt the darkness tugging at him.

And still he feared to hope, feared to believe. But the need for sleep would not be denied and when he gave into it, the only word stumbling through his mind was 'please'.

When he woke up again, he was alone. The bed felt empty and for a moment his heart sank. But then he saw those strands of black hair on the pillow, only a few but enough to stop his heart from sinking any further.

He propped himself up on one elbow and surveyed the room. Her clothes, scattered on the floor along with his. "Aeryn?"

She stepped out of the cleansing room, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet. And all he could do was smile at her, because this - waking up with her still around - this was real. It felt real. Time would tell if it was, of course, but the balance had been tipped in favor of optimism.

**The End**


End file.
